Legolas and the Winter Witch
by Dame Montague
Summary: Broken by the death of Gandalf, Legolas meets another ancient mourner in the shadows of Lothlorien. A story of love and life rediscovered, of friendships in the making. And experiment in style in celebration of J.R.R. Tolkien.
1. Part 1

(Standard copyright disclaimers apply.)  
  
In gwidh ristennin, I fae narchannen  
  
The bonds cut, the spirit broken.  
  
From Lament for Gandalf  
  
The elves wept openly for the passing of Gandalf, Mithrandir the Pilgrim Grey. And while Lothlorien was as Aragorn had spoken, the heart of Elvendom on Earth, the city of Caras Galadhon passed into night in mourning and did not emerge to face the sun. Shrouded glory met the fellowship of companions, and in truth such beauty in the wake of such sadness touched them more sharply than the strike of Lorien in her springtime could have done. One can weep at beauty and pain with tears clean of bitterness, and as such they wept and rested weary of weeping.  
  
Legolas lent his comfort as best he could on their first night in Lothlorien, but soon found little to keep him in their company in the face of the glistening beauty of Lorien. His companions found their solace in familiar faces, hobbit to hobbit and human to human, leaving elf and dwarf to make their own way through grief. Legolas longed for such comfort, for Mirkwood was far behind him in his journey, and while the he was ancient in the reckoning of men, never in all his travels had he visited Lorien. He wondered at that as he climbed the shimmering talans and touched hands with the Galadhrim, and found no answers save for reluctance to leave his lands without his protection.  
  
Naught was familiar in the celestial sprawl of the elven city, and yet it spoke to him in words beyond understanding, singing to him songs of his youth before war had marred the joy of his life beneath the trees of Mirkwood. He was welcomed openly by the Galadhrim, and was barred from no place he sought to enter. Song followed him ever, into his dreams when he slept, up and down the ladders and through the whispering falls of water that wound throughout the city and into the forest below. Songs of lament, of fallen joy, of lights and lives cut far too short.  
  
And yet, he had no tears to shed with his kind. Not since escaping the mines of Moria had Legolas felt the surge of sorrow in his breast, and that had been thrust aside by further flight from orc and enemy. For the sake of the halflings, for the commission of Elrond, he had taken up his bow to follow a course with no clear end.  
  
Galadriel had shown him his grief and his joy, in the whispers of her gaze that none but he and Aragorn had met. She warned him, too, of closing off his heart in the light of the new and strange. Her tenderness towards Gimli had touched him deeply, and he felt the need to understand the dwarf further. As he traveled through the wood, he noted places to return again with Gimli, a curve of living wood into rock, the light of jewels hidden some in shadow, a well hewn entirely of one great stone and marked in ancient runes.  
  
Caras Galadhon did not sleep, and never was Legolas alone in his exploration. Day passed into night and broke through to the dawn, passing time with light and shadow. Legolas allowed the gentle rhythm of dawn and dusk lull him to peaceful reflection upon the land of Lorien, hidden from time, from Man, from change. Only his nightmares reminded him of the burden he had taken on in Rivendell.  
  
Higher in the city Legolas found a rarity for him, Galadhrim children no more than a handful of years old. They touched the weave of his cloak and the braids in his hair, asking questions and laughing at his accent behind their hands.  
  
"There are so few of them now in Lorien," said one Galadhrim elf, scooping up the sleeping child who had refused to follow her fellows to bed an hour earlier. "At her springtime, the children crawled all about her limbs and splashed in the waters of Nimrodel. Yet we diminish, Legolas of Mirkwood. Are there many in your home woods?" he asked. "Or in the leaves of Rivendell?"  
  
"There are none," Legolas admitted sadly, reaching out to touch the sleeping child. "In truth I had not seen one so young since I was half my age. It gives me joy to see them here. But alas, I fear soon there will be none to call elves young."  
  
The child squirmed in her father's embrace. "My hopes are few in this world, yet to see her grow old in leaves of Lothlorien seems ever more narrow a chance. Our time in the sun is fading fast. We can feel it even here where time has little meaning."  
  
He suddenly stopped and shrank behind Legolas, shielding his child with his arms. Legolas whirled at the presence, invasive and alien in the peace of Lorien, his hands grasping for knives he did not carry. She was like a white wraith to him, pain and sorrow flowing out from the folds of her gown, down her tear-stained face from eyes wide and searching for what could not be seen.  
  
She turned her eyes from father and child to Legolas, who was much unsettled at her gaze, moreso as she reached a thin and claw-like hand to him and gripped his shoulder painfully. "You were there," she hissed. "When he fell?"  
  
He knew of whom she spoke, and what soul she mourned. "I was," he answered, and saw the grief opening anew in her gaze.  
  
"I was," she repeated, and rolled the sapphire of her eyes over his countenance. "I am not so old as you are, and yet not so young."  
  
Legolas stared at her, uncertain of what to say to comfort her. She leaned closer to him and set her head upon his shoulder, rested her other hand on his chest and shuddered, moaning into his neck. From habit he had long left behind him, Legolas made to embrace her and lend comfort, but as his touch she flinched and jerked free of him. She turned and fled into the night, white swallowed in shadow.  
  
The Galadhrim relaxed at her absence though Legolas was not so settled. "Who was that woman?" Legolas asked, touching the place on his chest where she had rested her hand.  
  
He did not speak right away but stroked his daughter's hair and thought. "Never have I laid eyes upon her," he said at last. "Few are those who saw her arrival in Lorien, and hushed are the rumors. She is the lady Theraniel, and little else I know, for never has she left her bower, save when Mithrandir came to our woods. His death must lie heavy upon her, for he alone enticed her from her willowhouse and into the city. Do not let her actions disturb you, Legolas. She is sick with grief and knows not the way to treat a friend."  
  
Legolas did not press for more, offering his thanks before taking leave of them. He journeyed back into the city to share the moonrise with the Galadhrim, to join them in song and silence. Soon the disquiet of his memory bade him inquire about the strange woman. Many did not know her story, or else pointed out another who might, to no avail. At the approach of dawn, Legolas returned to the fellowship and thoughts of his pursuit gave over to sharing the city's splendor with his newfound companion.  
  
Gimli was wary of leaving the halflings alone, for Aragorn and Boromir had departed from their flet on their own errand, as had Frodo and Sam. Merry and Pippin had already found jest with the elves who tended them and were returned to their fellows abruptly after some mischief they would not admit. The three of them had remained constant fellows to that point. Eventually Gimli relented, making the pair of hobbits swear on their ancestors they would do nothing unbecoming of guests.  
  
The dwarf did not fully trust their convictions to the task, but at Legolas' urging he left the pair of halflings behind to the elf upwards into the city. None of the Galadhrim acted surprised in the least to see a dwarf clamoring up the talans and cursing softly in his native tongue when his legs proved too short to make some of the paths, although more laughter than song flowed from their throats at their passage.  
  
"In all my years I have never made my bed up in the trees," Gimli muttered. "A solid wind bends them, a stout axe fells them. What is to keep a dwarf aloft in his sleep?" He gave a sigh. "And yet never have I slept so deeply. If it weren't for the confounded hobbits I would have slept the night through."  
  
Legolas nodded and slowed his pace up the ropes and ladders of the flets, though soon the dwarf was able to match his speed in place of grace. Legolas sang him songs of Lorien, of Galadriel the most for Gimli was soft to hear tales of the lady. Often Gimli was lost for words at the sight of the city's splendor and did not want to disturb the songs around them. He did not ask for Legolas to translate, though, for lament had begun at their arrival had not once paused.  
  
Legolas brought him to the place where he had found the children, a house built within the nestle of two great boughs, open to the air and paths below. The children were taking lessons from a pair of teachers when they arrived, and soon all thought of study was forgotten. The elflings all but sat in Gimli's lap to hear him tell of the great halls of dwarf kings. More than one elf child mimicked the dwarf's brogue and the teacher elves gave each other and Legolas long glances and longer smiles.  
  
Legolas allowed his thoughts to drift while the children entertained Gimli later that afternoon. Listening to the constant song had brought to mind an old lament he had heard once, and his thoughts flitted here and there to recall the words. He had nearly pieced together the chorus when soft words roused him.  
  
"Our children learn little of the world outside Lorien. It is good for them to see your companion." Legolas turned to greet his visitor, and bowed low to see Celeborn join him at his side.  
  
"We all learn much from this visit," Legolas said. "In truth I was much against Gimli's presence in Lorien. But now I see through different eyes."  
  
"As do we all," Celeborn said. "I do not recall ever teaching my children to fear or despise the dwarves, but our young grow in our image and inherit our faults."  
  
"I have no children of my own," Legolas said. "But my youth was spent emulating more than those whom I called mother and father. I wonder now at the figure I have become for the young in Mirkwood. I hope to return there and share what I have learned, to somehow undo any wrong I have done."  
  
"Follow that thread and you will tie yourself in knots, Legolas," Celeborn said with a smile. "Better to move forward than back."  
  
The children let out a shriek of laughter at that point, Gimli standing in the circle of them and throwing out his arms to measure the span of the monster in his tale. Beyond them, solemn elfsong continued a faraway lament for some other world's loss, lost to the ring of excitement with Gimli at the center.  
  
"Allow me to advise you, Legolas," Celeborn said softly. "Let go your pursuit of the lady Theraniel."  
  
"But why?" Legolas asked, surprised. "Are there none to comfort her in a place such as this? I beg your pardon, my Lord. But she is heavy in my heart since I have seen her."  
  
"Ah, I did not know you had seen her. Word has only reached my ears of late that you had inquired about her. She has taken news of Gandalf's death harder than most."  
  
"I was told that he visited her here in Lorien," Legolas said. "Is that so?"  
  
Celeborn was silent a moment. "Theraniel is unwell and has been so since long before she came to Lorien. My lady Galadriel had asked that none disturb here, Legolas, though you make no intrusion. Often do they speak, but only twice has Theraniel left her willowhouse of her own accord, the first at Mithrandir's behest, the second at his death."  
  
Legolas felt a pang of fresh sorrow at Celeborn's words, and ached for more than his own heartbreak.  
  
"I know only what I was present to witness and that which my lady has chosen to share with me," Celeborn continued. "I trust you with her tale, Legolas of Mirkwood, but take heed of my warning. 'Tis not a pleasant story, and it has made her into the creature you saw from the greatness she once held.  
  
"The lady Theraniel was a lore-master to rival Elrond, and his sons called her the White Moon on Rivendell. When the last fellowship between Elves and Men was forged, the lady followed our armies into battle. Her desire to understand the world of Man was great, and none could keep her safely away. Thus after when Sauron fell to Isildur, our elves that followed him back to Gondor found themselves accompanied by the lady Theraniel, despite their attempts to sway her path back to Rivendell.  
  
"Theraniel remained in Minas Tirith long after the last of our kind departed for familiar lands. Legend turned to fear in the fading glory of Man, and the king had her removed to Minas Ithil, where she lived until it fell to darkness. We thought she had perished then, for none had escaped the armies of the Nine Kings who had taken the city.  
  
"Yet my Lady Galadriel believed she had survived, having some insight to her plight, and dispatched servants to search for her. Theraniel was found located in the tower of Minas Morgul and rescued. But when she returned to Lorien, we discovered the effects of her imprisonment ran deeper than her disfigurement. Gone was the White Moon of Rivendell and none could comfort her. She remains under the protection of Galadriel, though she has mended little in her years here. Mithrandir came to visit her once, for they had become friends in her days in Gondor, and when they emerged from her bower the smile of her face shone as the moon once again, but faded soon after.  
  
"Now that he has passed into shadow, I fear her darkness shall never be lifted. I grieve for her, but none of us can force her to heal herself."  
  
Legolas had no words to give Celeborn at the end of his story, and could only nod his thanks as the elflord departed. His thoughts were full up well into the afternoon and only when the children rose to depart did Legolas return to Lorien.  
  
Gimli was reluctant to leave the children, though he attempted to mask it and grumbled to Legolas as they traveled back to their companions. The dwarf had not paid attention to the child behind him during his stories and found the back of his head and even some of his beard had been plaited with blossoms, though he neglected to unravel any of them.  
  
They arrived to a scene of some confusion and activity, which soon became clear that once again the two younger hobbits had strayed off on their own and found some trouble to get into. Pippin was giggling despite his attempt to appear solemn and Merry was nursing a black eye, Samwise dressing them down about proper behavior among the elves. Gimli glared down at the pair and crossed his arms.  
  
"You made a promise, my young hobbits," he grunted.  
  
"But there are no doors in this place," Merry argued. "How are we supposed to know where we aren't meant to be?" At that Pippin burst into another fit of giggles and Frodo smacked him with one of his pouches.  
  
"What happened to them this time?" Legolas asked, noting that both Boromir and Aragorn were also trying to mask amused grins.  
  
"Our halflings appear to have journeyed into one of the more private of places here in Lothlorien," Aragorn said, and then in Elvish. "And interrupted two of her people in an equally private moment."  
  
Frodo sniggered despite himself and Legolas shared his smile. "The Galadhrim are not ashamed of such things," he replied in Elvish. "Although the hobbits may not be accustomed to such displays."  
  
Aragorn inclined his head in agreement, though he struggled to control the twitch of his lips. Frodo surrendered to his amusement and threw himself down upon the mats of the talan, though Sam was in no way finished with properly scolding the younger hobbits. By then Pippin had calmed down enough to whisper the story into Gimli's ear, which set the dwarf to quaking with such mirth that he soon departed the flet entirely.  
  
"I take it this didn't happen in Rivendell?" Boromir asked, and was shot a staggering glare from Aragorn.  
  
"You should be ashamed of yourselves!" Sam continued. "Carrying on like this around the elves! My Gaffer would have a word about this, I tell you. Making fools of yourselves and bothering the elves."  
  
"They didn't seem too bothered, really," Merry said. "We didn't hold with watching them like that, so we decided to leave. But we couldn't make a quiet leaving of, you see. Pip must have made a misstep and knocked me in th'eye, and then o'course I started yellin' about that and that was what got the elves bothered."  
  
"Not that it stopped them, mind you," Pippin said, and got a swat for it from Merry. Boromir was laughing fully at this point with Aragorn not far behind.  
  
"I'm certain that no real harm was done," Legolas said, seeing that no one else seemed capable of quieting the racket. "But I'll ask that you are escorted if you wish to explore from now on." He looked long at each hobbit until they could not meet his gaze, only then leaving the talan. From behind he could hear the argument continuing between the hobbits, joined by the others eventually and then a string of laughter that went on long after he was gone.  
  
Legolas noticed that this occasion was the first that all of their fellowship had spent together in more than mourning, and the thought comforted him at first. But as the strains of laughter faded into the rise of lamentation, Legolas recalled the grief of lady Theraniel and the things Celeborn had told him. Such tales were not to be idly recalled, and his own heart ached at so much despair. It was this despair that set his course from his companions and their mirth.  
  
The house of study was empty now of children as it had been the night she had sought him out. Legolas followed the path he recalled lady Theraniel she had fled, climbing up and down and venturing further outwards from the center of the city than he had been since arriving there. The lights of the Calas Galahdon soon faded and he followed a clear path along the limbs of the trees of Lorien that few had traveled. There he found a house crafted into a willow tree, elegant and lovely, decked with all the finery of the hall of Galadriel and softened with the swaying fronds that filtered the light into a delicate glow.  
  
The song of the elves was clear even this far out from the city, flowing into the whispers of Nimrodel far below. He paused to listen then, and felt the mourning of the elves afresh in his heart. His last threads of gaiety fell away and Legolas remained, alone and ancient upon the boughs of the willow tree.  
  
Here, hobbits jested and humans laughed, a dwarf taught elf children to sing, and yet Mirkwood's prince found no comfort in the heart of the forest. Legolas gazed out into the purpling wood, rich with fading daytime and aglow from every dance of water in the light. The smell of earth and all things green was thick in his nose, lilting elfsong twisting 'round his ears, all of the colors of light and shadow spread in open beauty around him.  
  
Yet he could not love it.  
  
"Where now the solace of elven beauty?" he sang to himself, the old lament he barely remembered.  
  
At the sound, a figure moved within the house and the lady Theraniel emerged. Her face was clear from signs of mourning and shone pale as the moon she was named for, eyes large and blue and wide as she considered him. He noticed her hair was without the customary plait as was the fashion among elves, instead flowing in a long pearl stream about her face, glimmering white. Her robes were not the simple fare of the other Galadhrim either, but embroidered white on silver into falls of snow, matching the glitter of the opal ring upon her finger.  
  
"What is it you seek, Legolas of Mirkwood?" she asked. "I do not entertain visitors often and many do not feel welcome here."  
  
Much of Legolas' journey to her bower was filled with thoughts of Celeborn's story and remembrance of image of Theraniel as he had seen her that first night, stricken with grief. Never had he thought of what to say when he arrived, only that he felt the need to find the lady. Thoughts, words, all flew from his mind as his imagination failed him.  
  
"I am come to give you comfort," he blurted out, his voice feeling loud and large in the delicate strum of the elfsong and riverwhisper.  
  
"Is that so?" Theraniel arched a white eyebrow as she considered him. "And how shall you comfort me when you fail to find your own solace?"  
  
"Mayhap we shall find it together," he answered after a moment's thought. "For you did seek me out in your grief, and now I do the same. I did not know Mithrandir as long as you but I feel his loss." She winced at his name and Legolas again felt out of place in the delicate world around him. "I thought you would share your story of him so we may mourn together."  
  
She sagged against the side of her house and he watched as the grief melted her strength. "You may be wise in this," she whispered. "I have kept my stories to myself for so long, which is ill befitting a lore-master as myself. None seek me out as in old." She turned from him and leaned against the limb of her doorsill. "They used to come to me for all things. Stories of lovers and thinkers, but mostly of warriors. The Men of Gondor respected well the art of the warrior and would beg to hear the tales, again and again.  
  
"No more. They stopped asking. My own counsel I was to keep, and I kept it wherever they sent me. In Gondor, in Ithilien, in the tower where they kept me. They kept me in there, the Winter Witch, the elfwoman of Gondor. They couldn't keep us straight," she rambled and he let her. "Confused me with the lady Galadriel. Only the old have hair this white and they tried to call me the White Lady, but I wouldn't have it. Eventually one of the kings named me, and we all laughed. The Winter Witch. White as the snows on the mountains of Gondor, mean as a witch.  
  
"I wasn't really mean," she continued at his expression of distaste. "The sons of Gondor called me pussycat, for I loved them all. They named their daughters after me, generation after generation of Theraniel's, living and dying and being reborn. I have never lived among such death before. That is why the others left, you see. When we live among our own, we do not see death save for times of war. But in Gondor among the houses of men, death sits at your table and sleeps in your bed. Not a song was sung that did not pay homage to the fallen."  
  
Theraniel faltered, her rant stumbling into silence. She slid to the ground and sat in a pool of white robes and white hair, fingers reaching and twitching and pulling at her gown, twisting her ring. "Mithrandir," she moaned, long and keening. "Manan elye etevanne norie i melanelye? I am not so old as you, and yet not so young."  
  
"You were his friend," Legolas said, sitting to join her. "I envy you that, for my time with him was short and full of peril, though I knew of his deeds long before meeting him."  
  
"He tells a different tale for every friend he meets, and I am blessed to bear many of them in my heart." Theraniel looked up from her hands, out into the darkening forests. "Much like Man, he was. And ancient as our kind. I felt in similar company only with him. I do not regret leaving Gondor to travel with him, though I never was able to return. For the power of Gondor changed hands while I was gone, and I was barred from her gates upon my return and bid take up new service in Minas Ithil."  
  
"Why did you never return to Rivendell?" Legolas asked. "Or follow Gandalf's path? Either would have welcomed you where the men of Gondor did not."  
  
Her eyes hollowed in her gaze. "No one understands," she hissed. "My own does not welcome this kind of love. We are no better than Men, running from death and mystery and change. Gandalf understood, and now he is gone and there are none left to understand."  
  
"There are those who try," Legolas defended, though as he spoke he saw the council of Rivendell, the elves joining the argument as readily as the dwarves and men, his own voice among them. Legolas lapsed into silence, a new verse of lament singing out from the city to chill him.  
  
"They never stop singing," Theraniel moaned. "As if they knew him as friend and not figure."  
  
"He was ever valiant and brave," Legolas said. "Although his patience wore thin around the younger hobbits. I can see how you would love him, though," he added, watching the smooth marble of her face, the shadows to crease and deepen. "He was ever compassionate to all of our fellowship."  
  
"Tell me," she said quietly. "Tell me of my friend. I cannot put aside this grief, and so I will pursue it fully. You were one of the last who knew him. Please, free my heart and give me your story."  
  
This Legolas felt he could accomplish. He began his tale in Rivendell, and followed his journey up and down, giving detail to Gandalf's words and deeds, even trying once to imitate the phrase that amused him so, 'Fool of a Took!', which actually brought a touch of a smile to Theraniel's face. She laughed at the puzzle at Moria's gate and was amused at the accidental solution. He took her hand as they crossed the bridge of Khazad-Dum and she clutched it when the Balrog crossed blades with the wizard. Legolas faltered as Gandalf fell and they fled without him, for Theraniel was weeping anew.  
  
She did not flinch from him this time when he moved to embrace her, and Legolas stroked her ivory hair and whispered quiet comfort as she wept. Holding her, Legolas finally recalled the lament that had hidden in the corner of his mind, and he sang it to her, though his voice quavered here and there.  
  
Fallen, I strain for the voice of my fathers  
I long for my mothers, I weep for my brothers  
I bury my kindred in some other son's grave.  
  
Where now the solace of elven beauty  
When the stars dim and the rivers run dark?  
When the song has faded and the fires burn low?  
  
Shadow, I live part in paths never crossed.  
Your arms to weep in, your heart to sleep in  
In dreams we dance in the heart of the storm.  
  
Where now the solace of elven beauty?  
When homecoming comes not for the ones who departed?  
When the world of my waking drives nightmare to shame?  
  
Though his voice failed him soon, others took up his place and filled the night in gentle song.  
  
"Thank you," the lady said quietly. "I had thought it impossible to find comfort here. Now I may keep his story in my heart. Now that it has ended."  
  
"I fear I have not done him justice," Legolas answered. "For even as I spoke I recalled that which I had forgotten of our journey and of Gandalf." He ran his fingers down her hair, much as he would have comforted a friend. But his fingers brushed against broken spurs of flesh where the soft tips of her ears would have been, a knobbed thrust of cartilage that startled him such that he jerked his hand away with some strands of her hair still caught in his fingers, the revulsion plain on his face in an instant before he could force it away.  
  
Theraniel threw herself from his arms, striking his hand aside in her escape and clutching her face as if she had been injured. She glared at him from the hunched fold of silver and shadow, the white wraith from before, lost and afraid. "You cannot understand!" she snapped harshly, her voice breaking. "None of you will see far enough, none of you try!" Then she fled from his sight. 


	2. Part 2

(Standard copyright disclaimers apply)  
  
Manan elye etevanne  
  
Norie i melanelye?  
  
What drove you to leave  
  
That which you loved?  
  
From Lament for Gandalf  
  
He watched long after the silver and white had faded into shadow, unbelieving of the harm he had done, the failure he had made. Legolas could not move to pursue her for the ache had spread to envelop him fully. There were no words, he would not be welcome even if penitent, and surely he did not deserve such patience. Left with naught but emptiness, Legolas left the willow house and climbed back towards the city, the lights brightening to greet him and the songs swelling in welcome, the night and fell tidings falling behind him with every step. He had nearly reached the talan where his companions slumbered before stopping to reflect, for his thoughts had clouded upon Theraniel's flight from him.  
  
Legolas of Mirkwood was an elf of many centuries, had laughed through the passing of season after season, had joined his friends on the battlefield and watched as they had been slaughtered. Death was no mystery to him, no stranger on his path, for many had fallen to his knife and bow, moreso falling at his side than at his feet. How was it then that he knew not the way to grieve?  
  
Lothlorien glowed with comfort and familiar loves, arms open for the weary and worn. She remained untouched in the passing darkness, though her glory was soon to fade. Elves all about him offered song and silent understanding, company or solitude to find solace in. Yet Legolas held himself apart from the glittering haven, arms-length to every friend at his side.  
  
Did she yet live like this? Removed from the beauty and comfort that should restore her? Fearful of any other love should darkness open up its maw to swallow them as they fell from life, each light winking out like dying stars in a field of ebon sky?  
  
Legolas closed his eyes and watched as Gandalf clung to the edge of the toppling bridge, entreating them to escape. Could he have reached the wizard in time, had he run heedless of the orcs and their arrows? Dived headfirst and slid to the end of the bridge and snatched hands around Gandalf's wrists before his grip was lost? Surely he could have held on and dragged the wizard to safety, and they all would have escaped the mines together, breathing heavy sighs of relief and telling their tales of victory and narrow escape to the Galadhrim children. Sparing Theraniel and all of them from their grief.  
  
"Fly, you fools!" And they had fled.  
  
Legolas wept, long and harsh in the fading glow and solemn elfsong of Lothlorien, and did not stop until he had not the strength to weep longer.  
  
"We are all much the same here," Gimli said from his side, how long he had been there the elf knew not. "Broken open and without respite from the memory of our loss. 'Tis a brutal burden we bear, the last that knew him. Every night I dream of Moria."  
  
"Do you heed his words as we did when he fell?" Legolas said after finding his voice.  
  
Gimli gave deep sigh. "Sometimes, I do. Most times I do not. And when I reach the end of the bridge, it is Balin I see holding on for his life. I am never fast enough or strong enough to save him, either."  
  
"We could not have saved him," Legolas said. "The bridge would have given way and toppled us all into darkness."  
  
"Sometimes I wish it had."  
  
Legolas turned to Gimli now and saw him as he had not before. The dwarf considered the elf and added "But I know better than to wish such things. We are all that protect the ring-bearer now that Gandalf has left us. And there are many orc necks to be hewn by my axe before I let it fall. I feel but the hollowness that comes with mourning. And I will feel it a while longer."  
  
They shared a silence together, mingled with elfsong and snoring hobbits from the flet below. At long last Legolas rose and smiled at his friend. "I thank you for sharing this burden with me, Gimli son of Gloin. You are not quite as stiff-necked a dwarf as I had once thought."  
  
Gimli narrowed his eyes at Legolas but smiled despite himself. "I am too as stiff-necked a dwarf as you are as stiff-necked an elf."  
  
"You may be right," he answered.  
  
They parted there, Gimli returning to the flet with their companions and Legolas venturing back out into the city. He ached from weeping but felt a relief alongside the pain, one that heightened the loveliness around him. The air was tinged with a sweetness he had not noted, the elfsong more dulcet and the beauty of Lorien increased. Words of greeting and comfort offered by those he met fell softly on his heart and he shared his smile with many.  
  
The willowhome of Theraniel was dark within, yet he caught the fall of moonlight onto pearl hair and gentle breath stopped short at his approach.  
  
"None may understand you," he said at the threshold. "Yet I wish to do so. You are the White Moon of Rivendell, the Winter Witch of Gondor, lore-master and friend of Gandalf the Grey. Teach me that I may gain further understanding. Please," he added. "I mean you no harm. I have come to give you comfort."  
  
He had not fully noticed her beauty before, or yet he had not reflected upon it, for when she came into the moonlight Legolas was astounded at her loveliness. Now he understood why the men of Gondor had confused her with the lady Galadriel, for she shone with a pale beauty that matched the gold of the White Lady of legend. Theraniel walked up to him, near stood upon his toes, and drew back the hair from her face and neck, exposing the gnarled skin of her ear to him. Both had been torn from her, leaving swollen knobs of flesh, lined with scars of ancient fester.  
  
"We die," she said, her voice a dagger in the silence. "We die of a broken heart. But I did not die, though I wished it every night they came for me. I have not died, though I wish it every morn when I wake to the songs of Lothlorien. I cannot die, though I wish it still now that Mithrandir is gone. What heart have I then, if I cannot die?"  
  
The woman watched for his reaction carefully, the sapphire of her eyes sharp as crystal. Yet Legolas was overcome by her beauty and that alone shone on his face. He reached to take her hand, release the white flow of hair and bring fingers to his lips. "One that is ill used to mending," he said. "But a heart nonetheless."  
  
She made a small noise in her throat, fingers tightened at his lips. After a moment, Theraniel took him by the arm and lead him from her house and to a stair that circled down the great willow. He followed until they reached the floor of the forest and a garden of sleeping blossoms, blooming jasmine. Though little moonlight could filter through the fronds of the willow tree, the lights of city glittered softly overhead, giving Theraniel's garden a gentle glow. Safe in this secret place, Theraniel began in whispers that slowly found voice.  
  
"I have spent the greatest and longest of my years in the company of men. Though I was invited often to return to Rivendell, I remained in Gondor, not for the sake of the kings who sought my council, nor for the sake of my art as lore-master, but because I was utterly smitten and overwhelmed by the world I discovered. Few of the others I arrived with truly came to respect or enjoy the world of Man, which is why they left and I remained. I cannot give accurate dimension to what it was that moved me thus, such things are beyond words for the telling. I can only say that it was beyond my abilities to leave such a world once I had found it.  
  
"That which is different is difficult to love. Yet I loved. I truly loved the people of Gondor, the humans, for all of their qualities. Their lives are so short and yet so full. Not a day passed that I did not learn a life's lesson from them. I can only guess how I appeared to them, elf and scholar and woman all in one. The others of my kind warned against falling in love with them, for the lifetime of one man is but a passing season."  
  
Theraniel grew silent a moment, and then the shadows fell from her face and opened the bright shine of her smile. "I did not heed any of their warnings, and every man, woman and child I met I fell headlong in love with. I near split myself in two to serve their city. There was a time when I held the place of counselor to the rulers of Gondor. That was when they named me the Winter Witch. Aiya, how I treasure that title.  
  
"It was love that bound me there, and it was love that blinded me. I did not see the world changing about me, did not understand how fearful the sons of men were becoming of elves, of all that are alien to them, even their own kind from different lands. When Mithrandir came to me, chasing the heir of Elendil, I did not know the climate of Gondor. When I left Minas Tirith I did not know I would never return."  
  
Here she paused again and Legolas felt her hand seek his out and close over his fingers, touched the warm pulse within his hand. "I loved Gandalf because he was alike to the sons of man and the ancient elves, not truly home in either world. But Gandalf made his own world, while I was a visitor in every place I went. Perhaps that is a true testament to his character, and to mine.  
  
"I am not certain of how many years had passed since we departed from Minas Tirith. Enough that times had certainly changed, and the boy I had known was now the king of Gondor. I was refused entry into the city and informed my new place in the world of man now lay in Minas Ithil. I was escorted there with all formality as if it were some grand promotion and not banishment. But I was welcomed in Minas Ithil, though she was well in her waning years by then.  
  
"Ithilien is a truly beautiful land. At least it was when I knew it. For you see, with the rising fears I was soon restricted to remain within the walls of the city, and then the tower itself. I wonder if they would have sequestered me further had not the city fallen under attack.  
  
"They slaughtered them all and left me, some cruel jest of amusement. The long lives of our kind fascinated the maggot-men of Mordor and I was shut up in my tower again to wither and fade, while they poisoned my home and wrought the dark mirror of that city, Morgul." Her fingers tightened again around his and nails dug into his skin. "They are the ones who scarred me and made jest of my disfigurement. One of them wore my ears on a chain about his neck ."  
  
"I do not press to know your torment," Legolas said. "You have told me enough."  
  
"I have not," she said, striking tears from her face. "They did not throw me to the orcs for their amusement. It was men who tortured me! At first I could not hate them, I pitied them like some foolish old dotard who thinks the evil only misguided. It was only when . I had to learn to despise them," she said, struggling to find the words. "And I hated them all! I hated them in memory up in the tower where they locked me with nothing but the moon to keep me company. I hated every man I had ever met and I hated every man I had ever loved!  
  
"They stole my memory," she said in a whisper. "And I let them take it from me."  
  
"Theraniel-" Legolas began, unable to keep his silence any longer. "Your captors are gone and none can lay claim to your heart."  
  
"But I have brought my torment with me," she said. "I am still a prisoner and have remained far longer than I should be. I am disfigured," she added bitterly. "And disgusting to the Galadhrim, as alien to them as the men of Gondor."  
  
"You are no such thing," Legolas said before she could continue. "And there are none here who see you that way. My own reaction," he added. "Was one of surprise alone. And I am sorry that I caused you pain. I see naught in you but beauty."  
  
"Do not taunt me," Theraniel said, pinched with pain. "I do not need falsehood to comfort me."  
  
"I offer none," Legolas answered, touching her face lightly to smooth away the lines of grief. "You have shown me such beauty, Theraniel. Such that I had never seen before. Your heart is broken but still it sings with love for the men and women of Gondor, and love for Mithrandir. Your love shines brightly, and it is truly beautiful. I wish that you could see through my eyes, here and now," he sighed.  
  
"I cannot see that far," she answered.  
  
He bent and kissed her cheek, the gnarled flesh of her ear, the tears that spilled from her eyes. "I want to show you," he said.  
  
"I have so many scars," she said, touching his face. "You could not love them all."  
  
"I can try," he answered.  
  
He touched lips and words of comfort against every scar that lined her back, arched around to her breast and crossed her heart, tasted her exclamation, cooled the heat of her against him. When she flinched, he soothed her, until she melted into moonlight and rose to meet his every touch. He tangled in her hair and she laughed, her face white and shining with a joy that bubbled over to embrace them both. And at her crest, all the scars and pain fell away to reveal Theraniel, the White Moon of Rivendell, whole and untouched, and Legolas was overwhelmed.  
  
***  
  
Crushed blossoms of jasmine laced the ivory hair that Legolas awoke to find curtained across his face, trailing down his jaw and intertwining with his own. His fingers lifted them away, smoothed and parted to reveal sleeping Theraniel at his side, her head pillowed upon his shoulder. Legolas noted sadly that the vision of her had passed in the night and the scars that crossed her skin remained still. Theraniel whispered in her sleep and Legolas did not know to whom she spoke in her dreams, pleading in half-formed sindharin slurring into groans of sleep. Bending his face to hers, he found the warm hollow beneath her throat and gently bid her smiling awake.  
  
The moon shone anew from her and Legolas forgot any intention he had of departing, basking in the glow tarnished not by the scars he touched. While in the night she wreathed herself in ancient beauty, the glow of morning revealed a joyous youth and Legolas saw the glimmers of what loveliness the stewards of Gondor's had once called witchery. She tumbled and tangled and would not find peace with him until dawn broke fully upon them both. He could not smooth her rumpled hair for the leaves in it, though she fared no better in his golden plaits.  
  
Eventually morning drew to their parting, though it was not Legolas who wished it so. He told her of Boromir, heir to the steward of Gondor, and of Aragorn whom Gandalf long pursued before either man was born. Much they would have to share with her and she with them, though her foot did not move from the doorway of her willowhouse.  
  
"I cannot go," she said. "You have given me comfort much, Legolas. But old wounds sting and I fear to be overcome again by the memory. I would that I could be stronger for your sake, yet I cannot be bold on my own." She touched the side of her face and shrank from the lights and path to the city.  
  
"Do not despair," Legolas said. "I thought not of your discomfort and saw only what we shared in common, for that is large in my thoughts." He touched her hands and held her eyes in his. "I will return ere we leave Lothlorien, for I dreamed of the road ahead and I feel our time of parting has come, though I am of two hearts on it."  
  
"Let it not be so," she said. "For ever have I been the one who waits behind. It grieves me not as it had in old. But I will not say that I am contented, merely accepting. Return when you may, Legolas. I am not yet ready to bid you farewell."  
  
"That we may never be ready for parting," he answered, sharing a kiss before the press of other cares drew his steps away.  
  
Caras Galadhon shone with all the luster of the sun and moon both, tarnish and mar fading to reveal that which had always been. Legolas saw with wider eyes, softer gaze, than he had upon reaching Lorien, and fell in love over and over again. He was pained immediately upon seeing his companions, though they were glad to see him, for the journey wore heavily upon them. Frodo was nearly bent double with the fear of the Ring, of worse than death.  
  
Legolas had been correct in his imaginings. Frodo had peered within Galadriel's mirror the night before and while the visions he beheld were not fully shared, they were to make ready to depart Lothlorien that next dawn. Much of the morning was spent in the details of arrangement, for the journey before them had grown no less dangerous during their winter's rest. That night they would spend together and decide upon the path they would take, for a great crossroads loomed ahead though none was impatient to reach it.  
  
The elf wondered if this was how Galadriel saw within the hearts of those she met, for he looked upon his companions and saw them anew. The hobbits were muted from their once-laughing quality, Frodo and Sam most of all while yet they were connected as not before. Aragorn and Boromir appeared as brothers yet while Aragorn wore his fear upon his back, Boromir cloaked his in thunderous bravery. Gimli, again showing Legolas the grace and character he had not seen before, attempted to stir up the younger hobbits with thoughts of food and had them spilling out their once-packed pots and pans to make a last noonday meal, fitting of their final day in Calas Galadhon.  
  
They all ate the meal, having all taken a part in the cooking to distract them from their own anxious waiting. Legolas sought out Gimli as the last morsels were cleaned away, inviting his new friend to accompany him as they made their last journey into the city. Gimli, excited to reach the children to say his farewell, fretted over which stories to leave with them.  
  
"For there are none here we leave behind to see to a fit education in dwarven heritage. Imagine the loss if the children were left bereft of the greatest stories of Middle-Earth! I sometimes wonder at the wisdom of elves to leave these sorts of things out of their teachings."  
  
"Perhaps you could impress upon the teachers such," Legolas said laughing.  
  
"I may!" Gimli answered. "And maybe spare some future dwarf of an elf's stiff neck!"  
  
"Would that we should all be spared," Legolas said, and helped Gimli reach the flet where the children took lessons. There was no need for introduction, for the children had heard them coming and were already on their feet and eager for the dwarf's company. Their teachers again sighed and welcomed the pair of visitors again, the elflings giving voice to their own welcome at which tears stood in Gimli's eyes.  
  
Legolas saw her immediately, for none of the Galadhrim boasted the same pearl hair of lady Theraniel. She remained off to one side, not hidden but apart, watching the children at their studies. Legolas did not mask the surprise on his face and crossed quickly to her.  
  
"I am not dead," she said when he reached her side. "And when I noticed such, I wondered why I was still hiding. I grew weary of waiting," she said with a bewitching grin. "And found that I had strength enough for myself to go this far. Though it is at times uncomfortable," she added, crossing her arms to hold herself.  
  
"I am glad," Legolas said, taking her arms in his own, laughing into her hair. "I am so very glad."  
  
"You will spend the night with your companions?" she asked, trying to make plain her voice while meeting his gaze..  
  
"We will leave at dawn's first light, yes," he answered. "Though I would visit you before the night fell."  
  
"So brief a time that leaves us, Legolas."  
  
"Then let us make the most of what time we have."  
  
"A-hem!" coughed the dwarf.  
  
Legolas turned suddenly to see Gimli there at his side, the children waiting beyond, corralled by their elders to wait. Legolas gave a grin and tripped some over his words. "I am sorry, I had forgotten you."  
  
"That much was obvious," Gimli said.  
  
Legolas made their introductions, Gimli bowing and taking Theraniel's hand. The dwarf had softened to the Galadhrim elfmaidens since his warrior's heart was melted before the Lady of the Wood, though such tenderness was shared for the elfchildren as well. Legolas hoped to be touched by such gentleness as that which the dwarf introduced to him.  
  
"I would remain and share my final day with you and Legolas, my lady," Gimli said, drawing Legolas's attention. "But I have promised the children and their teachers to educate them as best I can in the history of dwarves, though it is only the stories of greatest note that I'll be able to tell. It will be fitting enough a telling that you should be able to learn of it from them ere I have gone. My lady, I bid you accompany Legolas, for he leaves much behind him here. Go on, then."  
  
Legolas thought for an instant the dwarf winked at him, was more certain of the less-than gentle nudge Gimli gave him in Theraniel's direction. Gimli gave a bow and turned back to the children, throwing wide his arms and voice to greet them anew, leaving the pair behind.  
  
"You have made an interesting friend of that dwarf, Legolas," Theraniel said at his shocked silence.  
  
"Of that I have no doubt," he replied, and taking her hand led her down the path to her willowhouse.  
  
***  
  
Their parting lingered long into the haze of dusk, for such things should never be rushed and it was long before either were willing to attempt farewells. They could not make promise to each other, for the dark shadows loomed over the path before Legolas and his fellowship. Fearful of this being a final parting, Theraniel made a gift of her ring to Legolas and bade him wear it for her.  
  
"It was made especial for me by the earlier kings of Gondor," she said, touching the glittering opal in silver as she set it on his finger. "The ones who first called me the Winter Witch. I wore it for all my years in Minas Tirith and only parted with it once before, when I gave it to Gandalf. I will tell you what I told him then, when he left me at Minas Ithil.  
  
"This is not a gift for final givings. I but lend you this to take with you on your journey, so that you may return it to me. Should your path lead you into a darkness which denies return, know that you do not travel alone, for a part of me goes with you into whatever place you find." Theraniel paused with fresh tears, as they had shared much before. "Mithrandir gave it back to me here in Lorien. It is my hope you will do the same."  
  
The opal glimmered, much as the lights of Lorien filtered through the fronds of her willowhouse, much as the pearl of her hair against the setting sun, much as the moon against a jet sky of diamond stars. Looking upon it, Legolas felt that the peace he had sought for them both was not quite so far off anymore.  
  
"I share your hope," Legolas replied, and when they finally found the strength to part, he bore her ring with him into the night, and neither were truly alone. 


End file.
